


The Hour of Greatest Need

by fenellaevangela



Category: Gargoyles (Cartoon)
Genre: Gargoyles 2198, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28146495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenellaevangela/pseuds/fenellaevangela
Summary: Elisa woke King Arthur up early.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	The Hour of Greatest Need

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mtgat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mtgat/gifts).



The stop at the Eyrie Building was supposed to be quick – in, grab whatever might be useful, then sweep New York for anyone they knew who hadn't been on Queen Florence Island before heading underground – but they were already lingering longer than Owen would prefer. It had been years since the Eyrie Building was, strictly speaking, Owen's primary residence, but it was part of his job to plan ahead for any eventuality and a strategic retreat from the Eyrie Building was one he'd once had reason to give significant consideration to. It had taken little time for him to locate and collect an appropriate emergency cache and be ready to leave.

He had never anticipated the “emergency” in question to involve an alien invasion, but the general principles of laying low and forming a defence still applied. 

The end result was him, geared up and ready to go, waiting in the great hall of old Wyvern Castle while Samson darted from room to room looking for any last thing that they could bring with them. The Owen persona couldn't help but find the disorganization and shaky confidence distasteful but he had to cut the gargoyle some slack; he was so young, after all, and this was an unprecedented situation. Nothing on such a grand scale had happened in all the centuries of Puck's long life, after all, and Samson was barely out of adolescence. This rationalization didn't stop the sight of Samson flitting back and forth through the hall from fraying Owen's last nerve, however, so Owen decided to do his own wandering as he waited.

He wasn't sure what lead him to check inside Alexander's old office. Alex had left the Eyrie Building in the hands of the Manhattan Clan long ago, now, but none of the gargoyles used this office as far as Owen knew. It was still earmarked for Alex's use whenever he chose to visit, even though that was less often since he had taken on the role of Secretary General of the United Nations. Owen didn't know how long it had been since Alex had returned to the Eyrie Building, the place where he was born.

Owen hoped that Alexander's last visit to his home had not already passed.

When he walked inside the office Owen was faced with the still, stale air of a room that had been closed off for too long. The decor was the same as he remembered it; Alex could have just stepped out. There was nothing in the room to indicate that the world was ending.

What the room did have was a subtle but persistent beeping sound. It was coming from the computer terminal at the desk and Owen was prepared to ignore it at first; there was a dire situation at hand, after all, and he would have to leave at any moment. He didn't have time to worry about whatever personal communication someone was trying to get through to Alex right now, and anyway, Alexander was _gone_ and Owen didn't want to focus on that fact when he could be focusing on the resistance. He decided it was inefficient to answer.

Until he realized – with the Master Matrix gone, the world's telecommunication networks were down. 

All of them.

So how was anyone calling Alex?

*

“I am _needed_ ,” the old man moaned.

Even through the double filter of a computer screen and a magical mirror Owen could see an odd sheen in the Magus' eyes, a listless air to his movements. It was plain to Owen that the Magus wasn't entirely in control of his own faculties. He turned to the other man in frame, who was trying and failing to settle the Magus' restless hands.

“Has he been like this since he woke up?”

“Aye,” said Tom, a pained look on his face. “I can't get a clear sentence out of him. And he tried to make for the docks before I even knew he had risen. If he was a sprier man I don't think I'd have caught him, either; he was heading for the skiffs like he had Hell on his heels.” 

“I need to _go_ , it's time, it's time . . .”

Owen watched as Tom tightened his grip to keep the Magus in his seat, and whispered quiet reassurances too soft to hear through the mirror. The Magus relaxed, but barely.

Tom looked back up at Owen. “This isn't how it happened when Elisa woke up the Sleeping King. I don't know why it's effecting him this way, or why this is happening now.”

Well, this was as good an opportunity to broach the current situation as Owen was likely to get.

“Unfortunately, the second mystery has already been solved,” he explained.

There was a pause, almost too long, and then - 

“I tried to contact Gabriel or Ophelia, but it was like the magic mirror couldn't find them.” Tom stared Owen in the eye, but his gaze didn't waver. It was the look of a man who had expected the worse already. “I tried to call others as well, in fact, but no matter who I called . . . well. You were the first one to answer.”

Owen nodded. “Something happened at the ceremony. The situation is . . . extremely serious, to say the least, but since I believe it's related to the Magus' condition I would like to clarify the matter at hand before I elaborate. If you're amenable?”

“Yes, yes,” said Tom. The Magus had started fidgeting again and Tom's attention was straying between them. “What can we do?”

“I think the quickest solution would be to seek out the help of the Third Race. If they can determine why this crisis is disrupting the magic of the sleeping hill, we could help the Magus and perhaps gain insight into the larger problem at the same time.” Owen's own magic was locked away in Alexander's absence, of course, but any magic at all would be a significant boon to their cause. “Who is holding court on Avalon now? Lord Oberon? Queen Titania?”

Tom gave a resigned sigh. “No one. They're gone.”

“What?” There was almost always at least one of Oberon's Children on Avalon, and if they had broken that habit now of all possible times . . .

“They disappeared,” said Tom, confirming Owen's suspicions. “I thought maybe they had simply left by chance but – all of them, without warning? The Magus awakening from his enchanted sleep, whatever went wrong on Queen Florence Island? It's all part of it, isn't it?”

“I'm afraid I have to agree,” said Owen.

“I suppose you'll just have to tell me, then,” Tom said. “What are we up against?”

Before Owen could answer, the Magus let out an aching croon.

“I must go _now_ . . . my destiny . . .” hissed the old man, clawing and shifting in Tom's embrace. “A need like never before, nothing, nothing like it . . .”

“The Magus has it correct, at it's core, but you'll have to bear with me as I start from the beginning,” said Owen. “Tell me, are either of you aware of what an 'extraterrestrial' is?”

At the look on Tom's face, Owen wondered how much longer Samson would be. This might be a conversation better conducted in person

It was time the resistance made its way to Avalon.


End file.
